


Constrictum

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-15
Updated: 2007-04-15
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Voldemort has won his first war. Everything has fallen apart. Normal people have it horrible, but werewolves have it the worst. Darkfic-ish.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

I remember the first time I tried to escape. No one ever forgets what that feels like. I can remember every little detail from the time I left my room to the time I was returned to it.

 

The rest of the day before my attempt was blurry. Only one thought stood out in my mind: freedom. It wasn't freedom from what I was; that kind of freedom I knew would never come. Maybe it was the idea of being able to live. Actually live, not just exist.

 

It was foolish, actually. I had only been here a month and already I wanted to get out. But of course, I was a year younger then, and it does me no good to think about how foolish I was then or what I should have done differently.

 

The plans weren't even that carefully laid out. I have to tell you now: If you're planning to escape from any kind of captivity, you'd better plan for a good six months in advance. Not getting caught is probably also a good idea, but I guess you already knew that. Really, I had just got it in my head three days before that I had a chance of escaping.

 

Truly, I don't know how I got to the surface without being caught. I think I made entirely too much noise. All that matters I guess is that I got at least that far.

 

I had carefully placed the cover for the ground opening back down, concealing the dark hole and the ladder that lead down it. Seriously, they could have been more inventive. It looked like the opening to a sewer system. Of course, I reminded myself, they didn't think of us as much more than sewage. It fit.

 

As I recall, back then I hadn't come to terms with what I was yet. I still thought of myself as human, which was only half-true.

 

No one had ever actually told me the details of my condition. I had to figure that out by myself, day by day. And everyday, I learned more about what I could and couldn't do. Knowing now what I only thought I knew then, I'm surprised that I'm still alive after all the crap I pulled.

 

The ground was uneven beneath my feet, and I stumbled along blindly.

 

It was so constricting dark that night. There were no lights on the surface. They really didn't need them to tell the truth. Living things were rarely found on the surface.

 

I knew there were walls somewhere. I had seen them when they carried me in a month before, only half-conscious.

 

So I stumbled along wih my hands outstretched. I imagined the sight I would have looked had anyone been watching (or more importantly, if they could see in this cursed darkness).

 

A short time later, the cover opened. I could hear its hinges creak, resounding like a gunshot to my ears.

 

Someone shouted. Frightened, I picked up my pace until I was nearly running. The ground was more uneven here and I hoped that meant that the walls were nearing.

 

I fell once, but stood up and kept going. There was more shouting, this time closer, and I knew that my pursuers had heard me. Silently, I cursed myself.

 

Suddenly I bumped into something cold, solid, and undeniably hard. It dazed me for a second before I was able to regain my bearings and figure out what it was.

 

Shakily, my fingers grazed across the surface of what I guessed was a wall. Handhold materialized beneath my fingers. As I grasped them, I was sure that they would be able to find me just by the sound of my rapidly beating heart.

 

The moment my hands wrapped around the bars, blinding pain erupted through my body. I fought the urge to cry out.

 

My every pore felt afire. Telling myself that this was the only way, I started to climb and hardened my reserve.

 

Everytime I let go of one bar to grab another or lifted my foot to put it on another bar, the pain started afresh. My breath came in ragged pulls, and I prayed to whatever deity that had left me here like this that they wouldn't hear me.

 

Too late. Cruel laughter floated up to me. I grimaced, because I knew that voice.

 

"You won't get far, girl," it said mercilessly. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the next handhold up.

 

My fingers wouldn't hold it. They refused to close around the bar. Frightened now, I tried to bring the other up and it did the same. Now I was only balancing on my feet, which were resting on a very slim bar.

 

I cried out as I fell backwards. The last thing I remember hearing before the world went black was that cruel laughter.

 

When I woke up a few days later, I was under the care of what I assumed amounted to our version of a doctor.

 

He was moving about the room, collecting different jars of substances and pooling then on a counter. I tried to say something, but it only came out as a muffled choking noise. Starting, he looked over at me and sniggered.

 

"Oh, you're awake. I must fetch someone to get the Alpha."

 

I tried a groan.

 

"Hmm, yes. You don't like that idea, do you?"

 

When I didn't answer, he continued. "For your information, Greyback has asked me to inform him when you wake. He seems to think the pup needs to learn a lesson."

 

Not. A. Pup. I resented being called that. I was nearly twenty, for heavens sakes. When was I going to stop being a child?

 

I didn't know what lesson that Greyback though he was going to teach me. Of course, I didn't know that much about werewolf packs.

 

Come to think of it, I didn't really know much about werewolves at that point. As I've said, I hadn't yet come to terms with what I was.

 

Even not knowing what was going to happen to me, the aspect of the Alpha being angry with me was terrifying. I was so young and arrogant, and when I had attempted to escape, I had actually thought that I would succeed.

 

Lost in these thoughts, I didn't even notice when the stone archway that served as a door was filled with the hulking figure of Fenrir Greyback.

 

oooooooooo

 

About a month after that, when I was fully recovered from both my failed escape attempt and the Alpha's 'punishment', I was sent to another faction of our 'pack'.

 

It was amazing. In those few short weeks I had learned that the Alpha's word is law, and that to challenge his word is to challenge him. Of course, I had opted to learn the hard way. I think I still have the scars.

 

Torture. It was pure torture when he sent me to work in the rough equivalent to our infirmary. I had just spent a month laid up sick and was looking forward to either hard labor or something that resembled it. But no. It was just back to the hospital.

 

Three escape attempts and several more beatings later, here I am.

 

Even our healers have a strict social hierarchy. After my last attempt to get out (which was about five months ago), I had been dropped back to the bottom of the totem pole. I've worked my way up since then, and now I'm the fifth in command. It's a pretty fair deal, once you think of it. And healers aren't even at the bottom social bracket.

 

I don't think I'll try it again. In fact, I've kind of gotten used to this (sort of). Just another among the ranks of the cursed.

 

Just another shapeshifter.

 

oooooooooo

 

As the fifth in command, it's my petty job to prepare all of the lower ranks for the arrival of another wave of Omegas.

 

Omegas are simply werewolves that haven't been found yet. When Voldemort had won his war, a great many of us had been contaminated and sent to the Dens (what he calls the compounds we are confined to). I'm one of the new ones. Omegas, on the other hand, were bitten when the world was still free.

 

Most went into hiding when the Dark Lord had taken over. More were found every month. When they got here, Omegas were in pretty bad shape. They didn't want to come quietly.

 

So it was the infirmary's job to heal them so that they could be put to work and earn their place among the pack. And I got the wonderful (hear the sarcasm?) pleasure of being in charge of this movement.

 

After my fourth round of Omegas I had begun to believe that the world didn't like us. They were just like me, albeit a little more experienced in dealing with our condition.

 

I had also learned, however, that most all of them were like everyone else. They didn't want to live normal lives. They ran from society when it shunned them. Of course, I hadn't had the chance to decide, but I think that if I was still free I wouldn't shut myself up just because of what I was.

 

Most all of them are like our Alpha. They were proud and damned society because they shunned us. They delibrately placed themself close to civilization in hopes that they would teach civilization a lesson. This never worked, just served to create more monsters like themselves.

 

They are the ones that I don't mind labeling monsters and killers. They are the ones that set us all into this bracket that we can never escape. I can't despise them because they are living with it just like I am, but I want to. I want to hate them so bad it's not funny just for the simple reason that it was one of them that bit me.

 

I know that it's cliche and all, but I don't know how I'm supposed to fit in. I'm not welcome among humans, but I'm not welcome among my kind either. They think that I'm weak for not wanting vengence on the human race. Why would I want that? It wasn't the humans that had sentenced me to live the rest of my life in fear of the moon. The only reason that humans shunned me was because of what the monsters had made me. They were the innocents, in my opinion.

 

But I have no room to be idealizing. It's not like it all matters, anyway.

 

I'm going to die eventually, whether it be down here among the werewolves, or up on the surface with the humans.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

Sometimes it’s the moon that howls, not the wolf. 

I can’t remember who told me that, but I finally know what they mean. Maybe it was supposed to be some reverse psychology statement or whatever. All I know is that the four or so days surrounding the full moon nearly drive me crazy. 

The first day isn’t so bad. I’m just jittery, and my hearing is increased tenfold. In that respect I’m sort of glad that I don’t live among humans. They wouldn’t understand. Someone talking in a normal tone of voice is nearly deafening that day. Even though my senses are heightened, I scare most easily on that day.

Don’t ask me why; I think it’s stupid. But living among my own kind does come in handy those days. 

The day after that it gets a little worse. I feel sick all over and I don’t want to move. But at the same time, the moon is pulling at me. That’s the day I get the worst kind of urges to do things that don’t make any sense. And I get irritable. Yet again, that’s the good thing about living among people that are like you. 

Everyone stays away from each other that day, so we can’t be at each others throats (literally). I smell things then. It’s strange, smelling someone else’s emotions and knowing that they can smell yours. Every one has a different odor, sort of like spices. They’re the same but yet they’re so different. 

The next day after that is the full moon most of the time. 

Do I even need to start on that one? Let’s just put it this way: for the whole day until the moon rises, I do things that I’m sure I would never do in my right state of mind. I need things I haven’t needed before, and I feel things I shouldn’t feel. It’s primal.

That’s my least favorite of them all. It makes me ache all over for no reason. 

When the moon finally does rise… Hmm. Have you ever had your bones rearranged? Skin growing everywhere at once and sprouting fur? It’s not a very pleasurable experience. Everything shifts. Your bones break and put themselves back together, tendons stretch and mutate. Skin is burning with the ferocity of a forest fire; reshaping itself and stretching beyond the boundaries it should have where stretchability is concerned. 

By the way, sprouting fur is the weirdest feeling in the world closely seconded by slowly losing control of your body and your thoughts until you’re forced to sit back and watch yourself go mad. 

The wolf emerges, triumphant in its return to govern your senses. I swear that every time it happens the wolf comes back with more enthusiasm. Slowly at first, it begins to feel things. It’s wild, but not in a good way. 

You want to run. You want to howl. You want to eat all at once. You’re being torn eight different ways. That’s the insane part. This goes on for about a moment, but it feels like forever when you’re suspended in endless wants and needs. 

The human side of you wants to stop. It wants to suppress this beast, this foreign body. But you can’t. Next moment, you do not only want to do everything at once, but you do not want to do everything.

 Your human side whispers in your ear “Stay. Don’t run. Don’t let go.”

All the time, the wolf is wanting, “Go. Run! Run! Let me in!”

And both sides are a part of you, so you can’t deny either one. 

Then, after a moment of fierce battle between your mind and body, the human subsides. It’s like an unspoken agreement has come between the two halves of you. The wolf pushes its way in violently.

Somewhere in all of this shifting and battling inside, you loose yourself. 

After a while, you don’t care anymore. When you’re wolf, then your human side won’t butt in, and when you’re human, the wolf violates that agreement by lurking just below the surface. 

It’s maddening, in case I haven’t already said that. 

The day after a full moon change is sacred. It’s reserved for rest and fulfillment. Fulfillment, that is, of the carnal urges that still lurk when we become human again. Only after this is done can the wolf be fully satiated, holed up inside your soul, waiting for the next month. 

I think the best time of the month is after the change. In that day after, while you’re resting and fulfilling, you can comfort yourself with the thought that you’re the farthest away from the change that you can ever be. 

And then it’s back to work. 

The second day after the moon is usually when the Omegas arrive. They are usually unconscious and bloodied up pretty bad. In rare and unfortunate cases, they arrive the third day. Then, they’re twice as hard to take care of because they’ve been out for longer and the blood from their resistance has dried. 

As I’ve said, it’s my job as fifth in command to watch over them and make sure that they’re taken care of. I just hope that there aren’t more than five of them. That could get hectic. 

Not long after the bells wake us up (there is little or no concept of time in this place), they bring them in for me to oversee. I thank the heavens, because there are only three of them this time. I won’t be too busy. 

Of course, I should be happy I get to do something. There’s nothing to do in these stone passageways but work. It’s a break from the boredom, albeit a gruesome one. 

You think I would be used to blood by now, but I’ve never liked it. 

I set them in beds in three different parts of the room. This makes it so that I can get to one without bothering the others. And believe me, I’ve seen enough Omegas in this place to know that they will be either angry or bitter (and sometimes both) when they regain consciousness. 

Once the escorts are gone I set to work right away with alcohol and water, cleaning their wounds. I’m glad that they’re not awake, because this would be painful if they were. 

By the looks of it, they must have been pretty good at resisting. 

I move as quickly as I can, going from a gash on the side of one’s face to a deep cut on the other’s shoulder, from the bleeding rope burns on her wrists to what looks like a stab wound on his left forearm.

They have found two females and a male this time. The numbers they are bringing in are decreasing each time, and I think that maybe the Dark Lord has almost got us all. I also think that he’ll have one massive revolt on his hands if we ever come into contact with him, which is probably why he never comes down here. 

Sodding coward. He just knows he’ll be ripped to shreds whether he has his magic or not. 

Of course, he sheds us of our magic. He snaps our wands in half when he catches us, and makes it forbidden. And yet he wields it against us. 

We keep our magical herbs though. I guess he doesn’t think we’re skilled enough to use them. 

After all the blood is washed up, I go to the storeroom and get the healing salve. I smother their gashes and cuts and burns with this. It’s perfect for healing these hurts. 

It takes a while to do this, because some of the wounds this time are rather large, and there seem to be a lot of them on this batch. 

Soon, though, it’s time to bandage them up. I think that this may be the most time consuming part of the whole fiasco because everything has to be exactly right. I’m a stickler for proper bandaging.

My first round of Omegas I had to care for were a lot worse off than this lot. There was a critical wound in one’s shoulder and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I remember taking off the bandages and putting them back on thousands of times, trying to get the pressure exactly right. 

I had lost that one because of the amount of blood he lost in the time it took me to get that bandaging right. I told myself I would never be stupid like that again. The nice beating that I got after that one didn’t help with the convincing at all. 

I thought that in wolf packs, the healers were showed gratitude. Apparently, since Voldemort didn’t care whether we lived or not I was wrong. At least we weren’t in the lowest bracket. 

By the time I had finished bandaging the last one up, the bell had wrung for us to go back to bed. The only reason (in my opinion) they kept an organization style like this was because we would be constantly killing each other if there wasn’t. At least they fought to keep some shred of humanity, right? 

I made sure that they all were set for the night and retired myself. They would probably wake up tomorrow, and then I’d have to deal with the anger and the bitterness and the explanations. 

Tomorrow was going to be a long day. But then of course, It’s always a long day when you can’t see the sun and your life is haunted by the moonlight you once thought was so brilliant. 


End file.
